Masquerade!
Paper faces on parade . . .
Masquerade!
Hide your face,
so the world will
never find you!
Masquerade!
Every face a different shade . . .
Masquerade!
Look around -
there's another
mask behind you!
Flash of mauve . . .
Splash of puce . . .
Fool and king . . .
Ghoul and goose . . .
Green and black . . .
Queen and priest . . .
Trace of rouge . . .
Face of beast . . .
Faces . . .
Take your turn, take a ride
on the merry-go-round . . .
in an inhuman race . . .
Eye of gold . . .
Thigh of blue . . .
True is false . . .
Who is who . . .?
Curl of lip . . .
Swirl of gown . . .
Ace of hearts . . .
Face of clown . . .
Faces . . .
Drink it in, drink it up,
till you've drowned
in the light . . .
in the sound . . .
Masquerade!
Grinning yellows,
spinning reds . . .
Masquerade!
Take your fill -
let the spectacle
astound you!
Masquerade!
Burning glances,
turning heads . . .
Masquerade!
Stop and stare
at the sea of smiles
around you!
Masquerade!
Seething shadows
breathing lies . . .
Masquerade!
You can fool
any friend who
ever knew you!
Masquerade!
Leering satyrs,
peering eyes . . .
Masquerade!
Run and hide -
but a face will
still pursue you!
Masquerade!
Masquerade!
[u]MASQUERADE![u]
For what is a Masquerade without Masks?
1: Mask of Good Deeds (Post #4)
It was a dark and stormy night. Such nights cropped up nine times out of ten. Sometimes even eleven times out of ten. Really, what were you expecting? Something NOVEL? Didnt you even bother reading the first post, heathen?
What? OH! Right! *Ahem.*
It was a dark and stormy night in the city of Wophalley. A city whose name was produced by an online name generator, because all the good Pop Culture references are already taken. The name of the city is subject to change.
Before diving directly into our tale, a brief description would be appropriate. (Brief. You keep on thinking that.)
The city of Straypufton is visible from space as a dark grey blotch on the Earth, closely resembling a giant dirty and disarrayed sock. When I say that all roads lead to Pararific, I am lying. All roads lead AWAY from it. People just tend to walk in the wrong direction and ignore all the warning signs. The city itself is not actually built on solid ground, but rather on the surface of what TECHNICALLY qualifies as a lake. Dont worry, something that has passed through THAT MANY kidneys HAS to be pure and healthy. Just dont try to go fishing. Youd have to jump up and down on the hook just to get it a few inches in. Also, in Soviet Ricefrancrisco, Fish catches YOU.
The city itself spans a few dozen miles in every direction. A few hundred thousand if you count the seemingly endless dark alleyways. The local population is made of bloody peasants, who dont mind a good brawl, or a nice revolution for that matter. To date, the city has been burnt down and rebuilt seven hundred and fifty two times, and the longest term in office record is currently held by the current ruler, a self-proclaimed god by the name of Bwerp. He keeps this title by killing lots of people. He keeps the population nice and large by having large trees grown in special street containers. Whenever he is running short on civilians, he just says, At last, peace and quiet. Then more people magically, automatically, and literally climb out of the woodworks to invade (or inhabit, to be polite) the city. Bwerp himself is not a bad or unfair ruler. He believes in equality. Some people just have more of it than others.
Of course, every benevolent (despotic) ruler needs a way to keep up the peace. (Carnage.) Bwerp does this with the Bigwig city watch. This is just a façade filled with cardboard mannequins, because Bwerp takes the old saying, Who watches the watchman? very seriously. The actual power behind the [u]Almost Gold Brass Décor[u] throne is the Humbawumba secret city watch. Smartasses who ask, Who watches the watchers who watch the watchmen? are shot. Then fed to the land dwelling fish population, just in case.
The current commander of the Jingyfizz secret city watch is a sad [censored] by the name of Cynic. Some like to stick Commander in front of his name, but Colonel Custard would be more appropriate. This is his story.
We zoom in on him, staring at the wall in his grey stone office while sitting on his metal chair at his black wooden desk in the secret city watch house.
[censored] you too. Cynic growled at seemingly nobody. Stop playing dumb, and please drop the narration.
Not a chance.
Little did he know
Ah damnit
He was going to go on a wild adventure.
The Commander immediately hit the red alarm button on his desk, dashed out the door at surprising speed, and rushed down the grey hallway. BATTLE STATIONS! He roared. WERE BEING LED BY AN UNKNOWN PLOT ELEMENT!
Alarm klaxons rang throughout the station.
NO [censored] SHERLOCK! Roared Cynic at nothing in general. He smashed open a pair of doors at the end of the hallway, entering the emergency surveillance/escape room. Dozens of monitors lined the walls, observing various parts of the city. A central pillar with ports in it allowed for robotic or cybernetic connection for complete visual superiority. Currently, a Special Tactical Utility Drone by the name of Thinker was hooked into the pillar.
Commander, I have a lock! [censored] crazy [censored] in the commercial district! The drone shouted over the klaxons as Cynic entered.
Another S.T.U.D. by the name of Spell was at a nearby panel, powering up the escape pods.
PODS ARE ONLINE! EVERYONE IN!
Cynic dived into his pod, the door slamming shut behind him. Thinker yanked his nanite cord out of the central pillar, tromped across the room, and dived into his pod, followed shortly by Spell.
The door leading into the surveillance room blew open again as three Standard Assault Drones entered the room.
But what about my pencil? The drone called Drumknot whined.
Screw the pencil, you would have lost it just by crossing the room anyway. Karn, the second S.A.D. replied.
The final drone, known as 5M311Y, remained silent. The duck sitting on top of his head went Quack. Nobody noticed it. The doors for their escape pod slammed shut as they all dived in.
Where is Realist.Cynic growled over the com. It wasnt a question. Thunderous footfalls replied, and several monitors exploded as the wall behind them caved in and a Big Assault Drone for Advanced Surgical Strikes smashed through. Right here sir. Realist the
Oh come on, do you REALLY need me to spell it out for you?
Its started to break the otherside of the fourth wall! Thinker exclaimed.
[censored]! Realist, there, a minute ago, bye! Cynic shouted before hitting the launch button.
Realist made a very good shot for his escape pod. He really did. He missed. This did not hold back the Commander though, because he then he hit the remote detonator.
Realist blasted through the escape pod hole, flying after the launched craft. The watch house exploded behind him as the emergency contamination containment procedure engaged and blew everything apart with a small thermonuclear blast. The assault bot quickly caught up with his pod and latched onto it with his magnetic clamps, barely escaping the reach of the blast.
Clean up crew will be here soon, our job is done. Cynic said triumphantly. Spell secretly ticked off another mental box in his mind.
Another square mile of the city blown up. Another square mile of the city reserved to be blown up at a later date. Calculated X square miles blown up. SUCCESS!
Thinker, specs on our diversion target. The Commander ordered over the com.
Our target is Destined One. The S.T.U.D. answered.
Destined One. Commander Cynic repeated.
Did I stutter, Commander? Thinker replied innocently.
Lemme guess. Cynic sighed. Abandoned in the woods. Doesnt know who his parents are. Found a mysterious sword. Raised by X exotic race. Came to the big city. Sells cabbages or straw.
Close. He found a BFG instead of a mystery sword. Thinker said. And he was raised by his own race.
Oh. Good. Cynic said with a considerable amount of relief as the four escape pods zoomed across the sky. That means he wont have any handy foreign fighting abilities.
He was raised by Ghost Living Bazooka Whales. Thinker supplied.
The Commander formed a sentence constructed entirely of expletives, which was thankfully censored quite neatly by this line of text here. He was cut off after four minutes, because the pods had homed in on their target and landed. The pods flattened four city blocks with their impact. The pressure doors popped, Cynic and his bots piling out onto what remained on the street. Hundreds of bowled-over pedestrians gazed, completely awe-struck by the entrance.
What, no neon? One said suddenly. What about CGI? Asked another. Fakest costumes ever. Sucks. Pie. I hate pie. WHAT? Ahhh
Put down the
HE HATES PIE! KILL HIM!
All the citizens leapt up and descended upon the pie hater. Except for ONE
He was a rather ordinary looking chap wearing a maroon cap, a bright pink suit, and green pants. He was Whistling Dixie.
GET HIM! Spell roared. ITS DESTINED ONE!
You will never catch the man on the lam! Destined One cried out, sprouting a pair of rockets from his ears and flying off.
WILL TOO! GET BACK HERE! Karn shouted after him. Each bot activated their anti-grav generators and pursued him. Cynic, however, didnt do anything of the sort. He simply got up, brushed off his trench coat, took out a cigar, lit it, and took a big puff on it.
Or at least tried to. It bounced right off his helmets faceplate. Mother [censored]. He snarled. The entire dramatic effect had been ruined.
Any more lines for the front page, good sir? Said a voice from behind. Cynic face palmed, and turned around slowly, taking very deep breaths and thinking happy thoughts.
Standing before him was a little tweedy man wearing a green sweater with a brown undershirt and black pants, with a pair of almost-but-not-quite full moon spectacles. There was a large mustache that twirled away from beneath his nose, spiraled down, and wrapped around his neck. He had a Mohawk. His name was Thing 1, and it did not having anything to do with the Bat on a Mat.
*Snap* Went his camera as it caught a nice view of the Commanders faceplate smudged over with cigar crap. Commander Cynic of the Anchovypallet Secret City Watch runs amok in the Commercial District. Thing 1 said in his sleazy voice. It sounded like a bat with Mushrooms growing on its back mating with a Gummy Bear six hundred times its size. Just give me a few good poses, eh chappy?
Cynic counted very slowly to ten. Or at least he tried to. A good portion of the area immediately behind him erupted in flames as Destined One blasted it with the BFG he had just pulled out of his [censored]. The six bots flew around at ludicrous speeds, shooting at the man with lazers, (Authentic! You can tell because its spelled with a Z!) photon bolts, Oblivion rays, bolts of concentrated force, rockets, plasma, et cetera, et cetera. This tore up everything within a fifty yard radius of Destined One, and unfortunately, the friendly fire option was turned ON today.
Thing 1 got an excellent snap of Cynic looking rather pissed while being framed by an enormous explosion of light and fire.
Ill deal with you later. Cynic growled. He put the photography inside a detention sphere using the Faith-Based crystal in his helmet. For his protection. The Commander made a very smooth turn to proceed to the fight, and tripped over his own coat tail and fell face first into a pile of pig liver that had materialized out of thin air. ([censored] happens. Especially in the city of Frockpocket.) He heard the soft snap of a picture being taken.
Some days it just does NOT pay to get out of bed. Cynic thought to himself, ignoring his subconscious which was currently thinking, Wait
I have a bed?
***
Two hours later, after having a very nice time flying around the city, visiting exotic locations such as the Nuclear power plant, the experimental industrial district, the marketplace, and the economic district, (and by visiting, I of course mean completely obliterating.) Destined One found himself without any more Swedish caffeine tablets to throw at his opponents, and was cornered. Well, sort of. A bit. In the center of the city square. With dozens of perfect escape routes
He was hoisting his BFG, destroying everything in a hemispherical cone in front of him, humming a tuneless song amid the sound of the air being rent by enough destructive firepower to make a cow look mildly concerned.
Cynic and his group of bots were taking cover behind the very convenient seemingly indestructible rock at the edge of the square which somehow stopped the output of the BFG, occasionally taking pot-shots at Destined One. Then they got into trouble.
Uh
Commander
Spell began.
WHAT. Menaced Cynic. Not many people can Menaced when they speak. VERY hard to do. And, of course, it wasnt a question. The Commander was very stressed.
Er
Our energy crystals are actually out of charge. Spell said sheepishly.
***
A white flag was suddenly thrown out from behind the rock. It was immediately shredded into trillions of bits and blasted into the sixteen and a half winds before Destined One even noticed it.
***
Ok, lets try that AGAIN
Cynic said, gritting his teeth.
***
Four white flags later
***
Ok, heres an idea. Cynic said.
***
Thing 1, having just gotten out of his detention bubble, heard the cries from Heaven.
HEY LOOKIT, THE POLICE ARE GETTING TRASHED!
***
Record time. Thinker remarked as Thing 1 rounded the corner and made a bee-line for them, seeming to dodge every bullet by complete coincidence. Which, it actually was. You see, photographers are so stupid that they are not aware of anything not directly in front of them, and even then, not unless it is being directly projected AT them. Hence, they automatically apply for the Running people immune to bullets law of the universe.
But the law is fragile.
HEY THING! Cynic roared over the noise of the destruction. YOURE BEING SHOT AT!
Thing 1 immediately noticed his surroundings and crashed to the ground, blubbering like a little girl with his [censored] sticking straight in the polluted air, which sat down, decided that Thing 1s [censored] was a bit too unclean even for IT, and left. The photographer was unfortunately spared from slaughter by a newly placed detention sphere around him. He noticed this after a few seconds and got right back up, and immediately started to take pictures of Destined one and his BFG. (He would be disappointed later to find out the glare from the nozzle obscured the entire image.) This resulted in the very small change of aiming, and therefore the change in the area of space covered by the cone of destruction.
Cynic used the opportunity to run out into the open with a white flag waving. HEY! DESTINED ONE! He shouted.
Destined One stopped humming, and lowered his BFG. He had SOME moral codes. (Dont attack an enemy until you figure out what they have. He did not know what a white flag meant.)
WE ARE GIVING YOU A CHANCE TO SURRENDER! Cynic shouted. IF YOU DO NOT CEASE, DESIST, AND GIVE YOURSELF UP, WE WILL BE FORCED TO PUT YOU DOWN WITH OUR ULTIMATE WEAPON!
Destined One seemed to consider this.
Think hell buy it? Karn whispered.
Dont hold your breath. Realist rumbled quietly.
What breath? Karn said quizzically. Realist just shook his metallic head slowly.
Quack. Went the Duck atop 5M311Ys head. Nobody noticed it.
I think youre bluffing. Destined One declared, grinning and raising his BFG.
AHA! BUT WE ARE NOT! Cynic roared in triumph. Say you are invincible and therefore bring about your doom!
Destined One raised an eyebrow.
I AM Invincible! He shouted.
Thats a wrap boys. Cynic said smugly.
A genuine, completely authentic titanium block suddenly fell from the atmosphere and smashed Destined One in the head.
And thus, the invincible are brought low by the only force stronger than themselves. Cynic said smugly, approaching the fallen warrior, bots in tow.
Gigantic blocks of solid titanium dropped on their heads from the atmosphere? 5M311Y suggested.
HELL NO. Cynic snarled. The long arm of the law, of course.
QuackBullQuackShQuackit. Went the duck atop 5M311Ys head. Nobody noticed it.
How the mighty have fallen. Cynic declared over the body of Destined One. He spat.
Commander, did you just spit inside your own helmet? Spell asked innocently.
Of course not. Just getting a better look. Cynic lied, ignoring the dribble of spit pooling at the neckline of his helmet.
Sandpaper. Said a large booming voice.
Oh bugger. Cynic said, turning around to see a very pissed off, but more importantly, VERY LARGE Bwerp standing behind him. The entity was a good fifty feet tall, and was made entirely of aluminum foil. It had a very crumpled body, the only smooth detail being its face. Which was made of Godiva boxes.
Why is there a FISHHOOK in the PIZZA? Why is there SALTPETER in the CIGAR? The giant god demanded.
Oh, well, you see my lord
Spell started immediately, being the smart member of the group. We got a LITTLE carried away
That didnt mean he was actually smart.
While chasing an otherwise innocent bystander
Or subtle for that matter.
Who went on a rampage, gave us a good thrashing, and wrecked everything in the process. Or tact.
Bwerps sneaker shoe eyes seemed to be melting. Not a good sign. Spell decided to shut up. For once, there was total silence.
Well done. Bwerp eventually said.
More silence.
Moar Sighlense. Bwerp sighed. How droll. Now then, I must award you all appropriately.
Every member of the group visibly started to sweat. Even the bots. All except the Duck. It sweated onions. REAL ONIONS! Made with REAL ONIONSTUFF! Nobody noticed it.
Or rather, just you Commander Cynic. You ARE the commander, and therefore responsible for everything, after all. Bwerp carried on.
A five foot area of empty space suddenly surrounded Cynic.
Mother [censored]. He swore. *Snap* went a camera.
I would like to inform you that this was a Good Deed you have done today, Cynic. Bwerp said in a voice that was not unkind in the same way a cat did not like to torture small trapped rats. Some of them dont surprising, which kinda undoes the statement bu-
SHUT UP NARRATOR. Bwerp said gruffly to the sky. He looked back down to Cynic.
A Good Deed? Cynic asked nervously. Maybe this wouldnt turn out so bad after all.
Yes. And as you know, No Good Deed Goes Unpunished. Bwerp said in a rather smug voice. I think Ill make you attend the Annual Bowdecks Masquerade Ball in my stead. Finding a mask thatll fit me is a real [censored].
End of Ma-
Oh no you dont. Im not finished yet. Bwerp growled at the Narrator, who quaked in his boots at the thought of his own creation going rogue. So, completely ignoring the futile and pathetic pleas
HEY!
END OF MASK 1.
Mask 1? Makes no [censored] sense.
Bwerp then claimed he was invincible.
What? What are yo-Wait-
A solid titanium block fell out of the sky, hit Bwerp on the head, and made him crumple up like a rag doll. Nobody else found the need to comment.
END OF MASK 1.
The Narrator then checked to make sure there were no more interruptions or objections. Finding none, he left.
... so where does it cross the line between "Pratchett homage" and "blatant Discworld Ripoff"? Personally, I'm thinking around the line about 'jumping up and down on the hooks to get them to sink' (considering that that's almost a word-for-word quote)...
>.>
It's funny, just kind of a... familiar... funny.
"A soft answer turneth away wrath. Once wrath is looking the other way, shoot it in the head." Seven Habits of Highly Effective Pirates
MA Arcs: #12285, "Small Fears", #106553, "Trollbane", #12669, "How to Survive a Robot Uprising"
How far have you read? There IS original material in it. 
... were you channeling Aaron Williams near the end there?
"A soft answer turneth away wrath. Once wrath is looking the other way, shoot it in the head." Seven Habits of Highly Effective Pirates
MA Arcs: #12285, "Small Fears", #106553, "Trollbane", #12669, "How to Survive a Robot Uprising"
Sorry, but I pretty much ONLY read Pratchett. You'll need to enlighten me there. Who would Aeron Williams be?
This would be Aaron Williams... scan through until you meet "Zodon", you'll probably see what I meant.
And... ah... you only reading Pratchett kind of shows >.O
Although I could swear there's a certain level of Douglas Adams-ism happening there too...
Quick list of authors for you to check out (based on your writing style, fondness for Pratchett, and need to expand your reading habits 
):
Douglas Adams (assuming you haven't already)
David Eddings (he's rather guilty of plot-recycling, but his characterizations are excellent, particularly in his earlier stuff)
Jim Butcher (specifically his Dresden Files series)
Donald Jack (the Bandy Papers)
Keith Laumer (his Bolo series is good, but his Retief series is better. Much, much better. Also extremely funny)
That should be enough to keep you giggling maniacally enough to qualify for hiring an Igor for a good while.
EDIT- I realize this might be a bit presumptuous- but there are a lot of good authors out there; and as a fellow Pratchett fanatic (I discovered him in my highschool library in... must've been '93-94..? Yup- I was into Pratchett before he was cool Well... before he was considered cool, anyways), I think I can at least take a stab at stuff you'd enjoy.
"A soft answer turneth away wrath. Once wrath is looking the other way, shoot it in the head." Seven Habits of Highly Effective Pirates
MA Arcs: #12285, "Small Fears", #106553, "Trollbane", #12669, "How to Survive a Robot Uprising"
*Loops Pop music, played at 2.5X speed, and plays it throughout all of france*
MUAHAHAHAHAHAH
You can't spell Slaughter without laughter
All your gonna do is just farm behemoths anyways.
My thoughts on November 30.
Welcome to the Masquerade Universe. Here we have a great many stories to tell about many people, many places, and many things. Before we go there though, lets lay out some ground rules:
Dont Disturb the Frogs.
Dont Disturb the Frogs.
Dont Disturb the Frogs.
Dont Disturb the Frogs.
You really should not Disturb the Frogs.
Disturbing the Frogs is not advisable.
You should, under no circumstances, Disturb the Frogs.
You should do the opposite of Disturbing the Frogs. That would be NOT Disturbing them.
Disturbing the Frogs. Not a good idea.
No Disturbing of Frogs.
This is an official No-Disturbing-of-Frogs-Zone.
Do not Disturb the Frogs.
You should not read this without some form of protection: All entities in this realm have shown the ability to break the fourth wall. If you want your identity to remain anonymous, please use protection before viewing.
Those who suffer from nostalgia should not read any of the adventures described within. There are unhealthy dosages of cliché and old school written here. This is a joke. But seriously now, I mean it. Possibly.
It is advised that if you have no tolerance for Cowbell, you should leave now.
Do not ever Disturb the Frogs.
If you have never thought of strangling your computer, you have no place here. Get out.
*Editors Note* The writer is subject to the will of the characters. Please read between the lines here.
Dont EVER Disturb the Frogs.
Apparently, listening to the Ocean is quite soothing. Why dont you go do that?
Disturb the Frogs at your own Peril.
You have been warned.